Page 90 of Bride of the Mad Laird
The stable boy walked out another fine stallion, saddled and ready. Tòrr shook his head. “A few moments, lad.”
The two men entered the keep and progressed to Tòrr’s study. When they entered Tòrr was surprised to see several items of clothing and fabric lengths on the backs of his chairs.
He looked at Edmund, eyebrow raised. “Yer plan?”
“These are the lengths we took from the gallowglasses who raided us several nights ago. Two of them are languishing still in our dungeon.”
“Ah, I see.” Tòrr saw at once what Edmund had in mind. “’Tis yer idea that we should garb ourselves in these drab garments.”
“Aye, and enter Duart Castle by stealth, nae by brawn.”
Tòrr nodded, giving Edmund a wry grin. “I like yer plan. We ride wi’ only two men and enter the castle by surprise.” He was already divesting himself of his plaid and donning the waiting garments.
He held up the tunic which was torn where a blade had entered. It was caked with blood. He pleated a kilt from the length of fabric and fastened it over his shoulder with the pin.
“The blacksmith will be here in minutes wi’ our hauberks and chainmail shirts. If we ride those horses we captured at ‘S Airde, we’ll have a fair chance of passing ourselves as our enemy.”
“I’ve already asked the head of the stables to prepare us the best of those Highland horses. They may nae have the stature of yer warhorses, but they are fast and sturdy and will carry us through the night tae Duart. If we’re clad as the gallowglasses and riding their horses, I’d venture we’ll nay be questioned.”
“Let us hope ye're right, I ken few words of the gallowglasses’ strange language.”
While they waited for the two of their best and ablest warriors, Matheus and Jacob, to accompany them, the blacksmith entered with their chainmail and they quickly prepared themselves to ride.
As they hastened down the passageway an idea flashed into Tòrr’s head. He raised a hand.
“Ye go ahead. There is something I must dae.”
He peeled off, taking the passage that led to the dungeon, while the others went on to the courtyard.
The prisoners looked up when the jailer opened the door. Both were gaunt, foul-smelling, their hair matted, but they stood when he entered.
“Can ye understand enough of what I say tae answer me truthfully?”
The both grunted their assent.
“Listen carefully. If what ye have tae say holds good, I’ll grant yer return tae Erin’s Island. If nae, a cruel fate awaits ye.”
One spoke for both. “Aye. Our word is given.”
Tòrr scrutinized them carefully, yet their eyes seemed true.
“How can we enter Duart Castle and take the laird by surprise? Where are yer men stationed, and how may we evade them?”
Without hesitation the men haltingly explained the layout of the castle.
“There’s a tunnel. When ye leave the woods and the castle is in front of ye, look tae the side. Ye’ll see what seems an overhanging rock. Push under it and ye’ll find the entrance tae a tunnel beneath the rock. That will take ye into the bowels of the castle. There are stairs. Go up and ye’ll find the laird’s study guarded by two. Enter. He will always have four guards on hand.”
“Thank ye,” Tòrr muttered. “If ye speak truth I am a man of me word and ye will go free.”
With that he dashed off to join the others and within minutes all four were mounted on their ponies and heading south.
They rode hard, yet their ponies were unflagging, obviously used to the pace they kept up. Tòrr closed his mind to what Lyra was enduring, only hoping that her presence had slowed down the gallowglasses somewhat.
A shard of ice went through his heart as he recalled how sharing her sweet presence on Paden’s back had slowed him, when he had returned from Iona. He took a deep breath, refocusing on the plan forming in his mind thanks to the men in his dungeon.
They made good time, stopping only briefly to let the ponies drink before they were on the road again.
The sky was lightening as they came in sight of the castle. It stood proud on a rise facing the sea. Tòrr shivered. Castle Duart was so much mightier than the fortress that was Dùn Ara. This was a huge edifice to power commanding the Sound of Mull and all the country around it. Ruled by a man whose wickedness was already legendary, Tòrr sat high in the saddle, the others looking to him. They all knew what he planned and would follow his command without question.
